


Like We Used to Do

by Laeviss



Series: Wranduin! [7]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft - Various Authors
Genre: M/M, Morning Cuddles, Reminiscing about Pandaria, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Anduin's meetings with his new advisor quickly turn to friendly visits spent reminiscing about the past. Late one night, Anduin finds himself not wanting Wrathion to leave.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Wranduin! [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756381
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	Like We Used to Do

Anduin could feel his eyelids growing heavy, but he didn’t want the conversation to end. Ending meant Wrathion’s departure, and with it, a return to silence. He much preferred leaning back in his chair and reminiscing about their time at the Tavern—the taste of Tong’s glass noodles, the time a dwarf champion had added too much spice to them and spent the evening whining to anyone who would listen. Anduin laughed, easier than he had in months, and for a moment it felt as if he had been transported to happier times. 

Watching Wrathion across the completed Hearthstone game laid out on the table between them, the king smiled, lifted his mug to his lips, and breathed in its floral scent with a happy sigh. Even his tea tasted perfect that evening. 

The dragon had his knees curled up on his chair and his claw-like toes pressed against the upholstery. His hair hung loose around his face, and in the dimness of Anduin’s antechamber, his crimson eyes cast their glow on his cheeks. Occasionally their halo would flicker, their light disappearing beneath the dragon’s thick lashes. It seemed that Wrathion, too, was starting to feel the effects of the hour, though one wouldn’t know it from the way he kept talking. 

“And then there was that sin’dorei, Rala’thel, I believe. Do you recall the time he tried to serenade us out by the hot springs?” 

“It sounds better with a harp, trust me! I assure you!” Anduin was quick to jump in. He could almost feel the awkward grin he had worn that night returning to strain at the corners of his lips. 

Wrathion chuckled, and Anduin relaxed, giggling like he hadn’t been able to giggle back then. He tucked his own legs up beside his left hip and let his head relax against the armrest to his right. His loose gold hair tumbled over its blue velvet side. 

“I suppose what they say about Kun-Lai Kicker holds true—not everyone can handle it, and least of all a sin’dorei raised on Eversong wine,” Wrathion smirked, lifting up his own empty glass as if to make some kind of point.

Anduin had to chuckle; in this state, the dragon always thought himself cleverer than he was. “I don’t think anyone says that, Wrathion,” the young king teased. “I think you just made that up.”

“Oh, no, I assure you, it became a widespread proverb after our time in Pandaria, as famous as that one Tong used to mutter about fish only seeing as far as their pond.”

“The one he used to mutter at you, you mean?” 

“At me is so presumptuous, my dear. He muttered it when I was around, certainly, but I would hardly say, ah—” Wrathion cut himself off with a yawn. The glass between his fingers caught the candlelight as he tilted his wrist to press the back of his hand against his lips. 

Anduin finished the last sip of tea before leaning over and setting it down on the table. When he returned to rest fully into the chair, it was with even greater determination to get comfortable. His eyes slid closed, and he murmured, almost unconsciously, “I wonder how Tong is doing these days.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Wrathion admitted. “I have considered stopping by while working in the Vale, but I worry he would drag out my tab and demand I pay.”

“Well, I mean, you probably should.”

“Oh, of course, of course. When far more important matters are settled, that is.” 

Anduin heard Wrathion’s bracelets jingle and imagined him waving his hand dismissively. He didn’t need to open his tired eyes to confirm it. He knew the dragon well enough to call up his expressions and gestures in an instant, though it seemed strange to say, given how many years they had spent apart.

The truth was, Wrathion hadn’t changed much, and where he had changed, it proved to be for the better. The thought filled Anduin’s chest with a kind of warmth that he usually wouldn’t have allowed to blossom so fully, but which came easily where he teetered now on the very fringes of sleep.

Relaxing into it, he listened as Wrathion’s chair creaked, and listened as his claw-like toenails clicked against the stone floor. From somewhere a bit closer to Anduin, Wrathion said, “I should take my leave back to Silithus. If I delay any longer, I’m afraid you might end up on the floor.”

“You should stay,” Anduin replied, before he had time to consider his words. He cracked open an eye and looked up to find Wrathion regarding him with arched brows. 

The heat in the human’s chest spread to his cheeks, and he pushed himself up, adding with a bit more clarity, “To sleep, I mean.” He stressed every syllable, his tone quickly shifting to something more business-like: kinglier. He needed to make sure the dragon understood the parameters of his half-conscious offer. 

It seemed he did, for his brows lowered slightly, and his expression seemed to soften. He was quick to match the pitch of Anduin’s voice: “Oh, no, I couldn’t impose. It really is no trouble for me. Just a portal or two, and I will be back in the desert before the sun sets there.”

“Yes, but that will take you through Boralus, and the docks at night…” Were neither shocking nor any real threat to the dragon, Anduin imagined, but as he woke up more fully, he found himself more desperate to see his offer accepted. A night spent together under the covers talking until one (or both) of them drifted off to sleep felt like a fitting conclusion to a night spent reminiscing. 

They had done it so many times at the Tavern, after all: joking, whispering, admitting things they would have never admitted in the light. Draping their limbs over each other and tangling together beneath the blankets. 

At that final thought, the flush returned to Anduin’s cheeks, and once again he started to second guess the wisdom of his invitation. But just then, Wrathion flashed a smile, and put aside his halfhearted protest. “Well, I suppose you are right about that,” the dragon conceded, “I would hate to get mugged in the portal room. That wouldn’t do in the slightest. I will stay the night with you, but I may have to depart the moment I open my eyes.”

“That’s fine with me. Shaw briefs me over breakfast every morning, anyways.”

“Then it’s settled! All right, then, Anduin, lead the way.”

With Wrathion’s acceptance came a bit of relief. At least now Anduin couldn’t continue to deliberate. Exhaling and letting his shoulders relax, the human brushed past the dragon and headed not for the door he had brought Wrathion in through, but the other: the one leading into his private quarters. He opened it and invited Wrathion to join him. Soon they had stepped into his sleeping chamber and walked up the steps leading to his expansive four poster bed. 

The dragon’s nails clicked against the floor as he stepped to the side and crossed his arms over his chest to admire the room. “This is certainly a far cry from that little round bed you had at the Tavern,” he observed with a smile Anduin could hear even without turning to study him. 

“It’s more comfortable, too,” the king nodded, stepping forward and resting his hand against one corner of the mattress to make his point. He waited for Wrathion to step forward and join him, and then continued in what he hoped was a pleasant—and not-too-embarrassed—voice: “Here, feel free to make yourself comfortable. I am going to step in the washroom, and then I'll be back. If you need anything…”

Anduin didn’t need to finish his offer. The dragon had already stepped past him and taken a seat on the corner of the bed. In his white-and-gold tunic and casual green pants, he already looked rather relaxed, and when he swung his legs up and stretched out, it didn’t seem he required anything else. 

“Of course,” the dragon flashed him a smile, and with that Anduin scooped up his blue linen pajamas from his pillow and turned on his heels to head for the washroom door. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Wrathion pulling his tunic over his head and casting it onto the floor. His curls glistened in the lamplight as he shook them free, and when the light fell on his chest, Anduin realized just how much he had matured in their time apart: from the hair covering each of his pecs and trailing down his abdomen to the defined muscles visible underneath it.

Once again, the king found himself worrying his offer had not been as wise or uncomplicated as it had seemed when he first uttered it. They weren’t boys anymore, after all. Wrathion, and Anduin, too, had grown: matured, even. They were men, and so much had transpired in their time apart, the thought of curling up together and whispering like they once had felt like little more than a dream.

Yet, Anduin noted, when they were sitting at the Hearthstone table, conversation had come so easily, and remembering together had been so fun. Not sure what to hope for and what to worry about anymore, the king sighed, stepped into the bathroom, and removed his shirt and trousers. He stepped into his blue sleeping pants and slipped his arms into his matching shirt.

As he worked on the small gold buttons that held it closed, his gaze drifted towards the mirror and to the tired face of the king that regarded him now. Rubbing his eyes, then splashing water on his cheeks, he hesitated for a moment longer before gathering his clothing in his arms, opening the door, and stepping back into his chamber. 

Most of the lamps in the room had been extinguished. The remaining light by his bed revealed that Wrathion had already tucked in under the covers, rather graciously choosing the pillow furthest from the one where Anduin’s clothing had been laid out. There was no red glow about him, leading the human to realize that he had already closed his eyes.

 _It’s probably for the best,_ the king thought to himself, though not without a twinge of…something? Disappointment, perhaps? It was hard to tell when it was swept away by a wave of relief. 

He set his dirty clothing aside on a chair and circled around to his side of the bed. Careful not to move too quickly lest he disturb the dragon, he extinguished the final lamp, then lowered his weight onto the bed and slid his legs under the silk duvet. Even though it was dark, and even though Wrathion was nearly three feet away, he could feel his presence. The bed was a bit warmer than usual, and there was a dip in his mattress that hadn’t ever been there before. 

It felt nice. Anduin’s fears were abated, and when he closed his eyes and breathed in Wrathion’s scent, he realized that he felt more normal, more like _himself_ , than he had in a long time. With his head relaxed on his pillow, sleep started to make its swift return, and just as his thoughts started to fall still, he heard a familiar voice murmur a gentle: “Sleep well, Anduin.” 

With that, the warmth he had experienced earlier returned, spreading in his chest, and wrapping him in a comfortable embrace, not unlike the physical embraces he and Wrathion had once shared. 

How long had it been, the king wondered in his final moments of wakefulness, since anyone had called him by his name?

______________

When Anduin awoke to the sixth bell Wrathion was still there. He eased himself off the bed and tried to cross the dark room without making a sound. Again, he decided to dress in his washroom, even though the lump on the opposite side of his bed showed no signs of moving anytime soon. He inched open the door and closed it behind him, wondering if he should have made some attempt to say goodbye before taking his leave.

‘But Wrathion looked so peaceful,’ he thought to himself, ‘I wouldn’t want him to feel like he was being kicked out.’

When Anduin arrived downstairs, he found Shaw and an Arathi representative he didn’t recognize deep in discussion about a letter they had intercepted. He listened as they discussed loyalist holdouts in the region, as well as mounting concerns regarding Blightcaller’s movements. He rubbed his eyes once or twice, but otherwise felt less tired than usual; as it turned out, he had slept rather well last night. 

Coffee was brought out to them, and he sipped from his mug in silence, finding his mind drifting upstairs to his bedroom—to Wrathion with his arms curled around his pillow and his face hidden by a mass of curls. Eager as he was to see him off, he knew this meeting was far too important to be skipped. He listened, and waited, and tried not to look too exasperated when he found two of his treasurers waiting nearby to discuss their summer budget the moment he was finally able to leave the room.

By the time he managed to escape, it was half past nine, and any hope of seeing Wrathion out had been completely dashed. 

Imagine his shock, then, when he finally made it back through his door with a pile of letters in his arms, only to find the same lump in his bed—unmoved, unchanged, and showing no signs of waking. 

His pulse quickened. A feeling of dread passed over him, and, though he couldn’t pinpoint precisely _why_ that trepidation rose in him so acutely, the blood started to drain from his cheeks. Setting the letters aside on his chair, he shuffled out of his shoes and quickened his pace up the steps. When he approached the bed, however, he found nothing out of the ordinary. 

Wrathion’s shoulders were rising and falling softly with every breath, and his knees were hugged to his chest—balled up, just like Anduin knew him to sleep in his dragon form. His claw-like nails clutched at the gold-trimmed edges of the pillow beneath his curly head, and his expression was soft, peaceful.

Unable to help himself, Anduin eased off his own tunic, dropped it gently to the floor, and crawled back under the covers. He scooted closer this time, not stopping until his head rested on the pillow beside Wrathion’s. At this distance, he could certainly feel the dragon’s heat: a bit too hot for Anduin’s sleeping tastes, but he enjoyed it as he always had. He watched him and listened to the gentle in-and-out of his breath.

He was gone—entirely, absolutely, utterly gone, his face almost lifeless in its placidity. Pursing his lips, Anduin wondered over it. He considered everything from the neatly groomed line of his beard to the slight chapping he detected on his lower lip, likely from all the days the dragon had spent in this form with the dry Silithus wind blowing in his face.

How long had it been since he’d been asleep like this, the king couldn’t help but mull over. Wrathion had spoken very little about the time between his betrayal at the trial and his abrupt reappearance at Stormwind Keep. Most of what Anduin knew of his travels had been relayed to him by his champions, or by SI:7 when they had been trailing his movements.

He had stayed at Karazhan. Of that much Anduin was aware. But where else had he traveled? How many nights had he spent curled up in a cave somewhere or hiding his face from view on a traveling vessel? Pursing his lips, Anduin recalled a nightmare he had once had while his father still lived. He had been Wrathion, and his heart had pounded in his ears as he fled from an Orcish warband. His legs had ached, and the soles of his feet had screamed as he scrambled up an uneven stone path in the hills. His mind felt like it hadn’t slept in weeks—Had it all been real?

Unable to stop himself, Anduin reached out and brushed back some of Wrathion’s curls, just enough to expose his ear and the rest of his face. Pursing his lips, Anduin studied him. When he slept like this, he always looked so at ease, so different than he tended to look at any other moment of the day or night.

Anduin liked it. He always had. With a soft exhale, he slid in until their faces were only inches apart. His arm snaked under the covers, his hand finding the slight curve of Wrathion’s waist. 

At that contact, Wrathion stirred. His long eyelashes fluttered, and a bit of red light broke through them to shine upon his cheekbones. Anduin sucked in a breath, realizing at once that he might have gone too far.

But when their eyes met, Wrathion’s lips curled into a smile. He shifted and released his grip on the pillow to instead drape his arm over Anduin’s shoulder. Untucking his knees, he let his feet slide down Anduin’s legs, and used the change in posture to bury his head against the bare skin of Anduin's chest. 

His thick, brown locks ticked Anduin’s chin. The king let out a contented sigh and slid his hand up the dragon’s back to toy with them. After a moment, Wrathion’s breath—hot against Anduin’s neck—evened once more, and the crimson glow of his eyes disappeared back beneath his lashes. 

After several hours tangled like that, Wrathion would wake again and mumble some kind of apology, some shy remark about the nightmares that had plagued him and the coldness of the Heart Chamber floor where he usually slept. Anduin would listen, tightening his grip around him and holding him as he once had, before pressing their lips together in a gentle, understanding, and utterly unhurried kiss, just like they used to do.


End file.
